Sensations
by Super Sheba
Summary: He brought her sensations she'd never thought possible. A series of Aoshi x Misao centric drabbles.
1. Warmth

_**Warmth**_

She smiled softly. He had always been that way, and probably always would be. Quiet. Stern. Serious. Warm. Warmth had always been a part of him. Not many other people could see it, but she did. What most saw as cold and emotionless, she saw as deep and understanding. Sometimes, people yearn for someone to be strong for them. Someone to withhold tears while they weep freely and grieve openly. For her, he had always fulfilled that role.

At first, his silence had broken her, had only brought forth more tears. She had been confused and disturbed by his reaction. She had cried and cried until her being no longer had tears to shed, but when that final tear had trickled down her cheek, a weight upon her chest had been lifted, and suddenly she had come to understand the man whose heart she had thought made of stone.

She realized that she had never truly expressed her gratitude.

"Aoshi-sama?" she asked brightly, flashing him a wide grin. She would be his smile.

"Yes, Misao?" he replied calmly, his deep voice encompassed in an ever serene state.

"Thank you." she answered.

"Aa." uttered he, quietly.

That simple word sent warm shudders throughout her entire body.


	2. Pain

_**Pain**_

She stood there, her small form hidden behind the trees surrounding the small temple. Within her arms she held a tray bearing two cups of green tea. It was his favorite after all. Every morning it was the same. She would wander to the little temple with the two warm drinks, hoping to meet him there. She would chatter idly at him, as he sat in silence, his eyes closed restfully.

Sometimes, she would silence herself, though, and the sound of his beating heart would echo through the air, and his deceptive appearance of serenity would be shattered. His heartbeat revealed his guilt. Although he would never admit it, she could tell he was in pain. Everything about his physical appearance told a different story. He always appeared so peaceful. She, however, knew him far better than that. Behind his carefully crafted mask of serenity lay a troubled man.

She entered the temple, as she did every morning, and sat herself down beside him.

"Aoshi-sama?" she asked softly, a bit nervous.

It was odd for her. Makimachi Misao was never nervous.

"Am I," she stuttered, wishing the butterflies in her stomach would vanish. "Am I a part of your pain?"

"To tell you that you are not a part of my pain would be a lie," he stated, his voice hiding his emotions. "But understand this, Misao; you are not the cause of my pain."

"What do you mean, Aoshi-sama?" she wondered aloud, almost forgetting he could hear her confusion-lined voice.

"I hurt you." he said, his eyes unable to meet hers.

"Yes, you did hurt me," she replied "But understand this, Aoshi-sama. You are not the cause of my pain."

In surprise, the man looked up, his cold eyes finally finding the warmth of her gaze.

"Aoshi-sama, you hurt me." She said, a smile gracing her delicate features. "That is true, and I will not deny that fact. Aoshi-sama, you nearly killed me."

At this, she heard a small change occur in his normally rhythmic breathing.

"I was so worried about you." she uttered quietly, her nerves again returning. "I told myself that you did not matter to me, that you had betrayed me. I told myself you were not worth my love."

Tears began to form in the young girl's eyes; tears for the many times she had withheld them.

"Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I knew, deep down, that I couldn't stop loving you." Her voice faltered for a moment, but soon she continued, "Do you know how much I cried when Himura told me he'd bring you back to me, alive and well?"

"No." he said, the guilt in his heart growing as his thoughts drifted to his iniquities. "I'm sorry."

She took his hand into her two small ones and smiled.

"It's okay, Aoshi-sama." she replied to him, her eyes bright. "Because, you know what?"

"What?" he questioned her.

She gave his hand a squeeze. It was subtle. Just like he was.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." she told him.

The honesty in her voice comforted him, and although it was barely noticeable, his lips curved slightly into a smile.

No one else could see it. No one but her. Just like she could see his pain.

For him, there was no one but her.


	3. Silence

_**Silence**_

Just being around him was enough to please her. Simple actions were enough for her. She did not need words to tell her what her heart already knew. She loved him. It was that simple.

Then again, love was never simple. Although just being around him _was_ enough to please her, her heart yearned for more. It longed for affirmation, to hear him say he loved her too.

Whenever she uttered those three words, his voice seemed to escape him, and he was silent. It hurt her, knowing that each time she spoke those words he would never respond.

But she did not know. She was unaware.

He knew he loved her. There was no question in his mind, but deep within him, there existed a fear; a fear of hurting her. He knew she was a grown woman, but to him, she was still as fragile as the tiny wisp of a girl he had left sleeping peacefully on her futon. She was not a weak person; this he knew. She was precious to him.

He knew words could hurt, and far more than any silence could.

His silence was hurting her, and he was aware of this. Yet, he knew his words could never portray how deeply he felt for her. He did not wish to pain her with emotions he could not fully understand himself. So he was silent.

"Aoshi-sama," she said with a smile. "I love you."

No word ever escaped his lips. She did not understand his silence. Yet, she was content. In those moments of silence she was happy, because in those moments of silence, he never once rejected her feelings.

Perhaps in his own way, she thought, he was telling her that he loved her too.


	4. Trust

_**Trust**_

They were beautiful. Just like her. He was mesmerized by their graceful movements as they fluttered in the wind. They were so like her, the butterflies. Lively, enchanting, innocent. Perhaps that was what reminded him the most of her. They were innocent. They seemed so carefree in that innocence.

But he had always been taught to never trust his sight, to allow his other senses to guide him, because nothing is ever as it seems. The fighting technique of his companion Hannya had been just one example of this phenomenon; his arms had appeared to extend and retract during battle, when in reality, it had been the stripes on his arms causing this illusion.

And nature was filled with such examples, of animals who did the same. Even butterflies masqueraded, their bright colors forewarning of a poison that did not truly exist. The viceroy butterfly, for example, he knew, was of magnificent colors, wings colored a vermillion hue, warning predators. However, the viceroy was nothing but a mimic, borrowing its poisonous twin, the monarch's coloration. A bird's avoidance of the harmless viceroy was yet a natural demonstration of the mistake one makes in believing in what he sees.

But when he looked at her, and when he closed his eyes, there was no difference. The innocence and exuberance that lined her features when he gazed at her with his cold eyes radiated from her soul when he allowed those eyes to close and he allowed his own soul to wander and absorb the warmth that her soul released into the air.

She was different. She was white, clean, innocent. She bore no scarlet letter, nor did she hide behind a mask of feelings not her own. She was simply herself.

And perhaps that honesty hindered her ninja abilities.

He didn't care.

Her honesty also heightened her skills as a ninja. He never had to question her plans, her thoughts, her feelings. They were always written across her face.

He didn't care.

The tenderness and innocence she exhibited, her honesty, it did not matter in what way they were beneficial or impeding.

To him, all that mattered was that she was tender, innocent, and honest. Because to him, she was all that mattered. Because she was herself.

And as he watched her frolicking about, just as the butterflies, he half-expected her to take flight. No guilt weighed upon her heart like his.

And he admired her spirit, her freedom of emotion. He never doubted her.

Perhaps, sometimes, he mused, one could trust what one sees.


	5. Ideal

_**Ideal**_

Deep down, he knew that many of her characteristics were practically the antithesis of those of the ideal ninja. She was loud, short-tempered, quick to violence, overly-hyper, and rather naïve. He was the opposite—quiet, patient (and really, it was necessary that he be so, with her as his teammate), had a tendency towards compromise, calm, and wise beyond his years.

But sometimes, he wished that he could be as innocent as she. Because with his knowledge came a harsh reality—that man needed no reason to slaughter other than sheer thirst for blood and lust for power; that man needed no convincing to toss away any and all guilt for his transgressions.

And sometimes, he also yearned to have the words to rival her own plethora (despite, of course, the fact that her vocabulary was rather lacking in comparison to his). Because she never feared speaking her mind, was never woeful for long if something she stated happened to be foolish. She strode pridefully past her mistakes and allowed herself to quickly recover from her errors. He, however, dwelt far too long upon his mistakes and allowed his own sorrow to overtake him.

But her energy, her determination, and her loyalty shone through his darkness and lit up a path towards redemption. A redemption that had once seemed forever out of his grasp.

Because her laughter was infectious. Because her bright smile was inspiring. Because her bold and energetic mannerisms teemed with an innocent determination that sparked him to life.

Because she too was an imperfect being who became angry and swore when she was frustrated. Because she too had problems, be they trifles or tragedies.

And although he could never wish ill-will upon her, it was comforting to know that she, a person possessing so many strong qualities, had her faults.

That someone whom he had caused so much pain, someone he had shunned, someone whose soul he had shattered, had shed tears for him, had for him been unreal, and for a long time, he wondered if it had all been a dream.

But her presence each day by his side, her constant calls for _her_ "Aoshi-sama," reminded him daily that those qualities that were not those of the so-called "ideal ninja" were completely insignificant, because in her heart, she was loyal to him and the Oniwabanshuu. He knew that she would lay down her life for any of her companions without a second thought. Especially for him.

That thought scared him, however. Losing her, for him, would be worse than death itself, though he would never admit it aloud. It had been hard enough for him to lose Hannya, Beshimi, Shikijou, and Hyouttoko, and he had nearly lost his soul. If he were to lose her too, he realized, he would probably be completely consumed by the monster within himself.

And that within itself would hurt Misao. It had before, and he knew that it would continue to hurt her if that inner-monster again returned. It would also, he knew, bring her to flaunt her positive characteristics without her even trying.

Her great loyalty, in the end, had saved him. Saved his life, saved his soul. Himura had spared him because of her tears, and for that he was grateful. And he was sure, that despite Misao's lack of ninja-esque characteristics, she was perhaps the most excellent ninja within the Oniwabanshuu, because no matter what, she put the lives of her comrades far ahead of her own.

Because no matter what, she put _his_ life far ahead of her own.


	6. Taste

**Taste**

She doesn't understand his strange obsession with green tea. Since her childhood, she has not really enjoyed drinking green tea. She honestly doesn't understand his fixation around it.

For her, green tea is rather bland and lacks the flavor she desires. It's boring, and yet, day after day she sits quietly and drinks it with no complaints whatsoever. At a glance, one would think that she loved green tea with every fiber of her being. A peaceful and happy expression is spread across her face as she drinks the warm liquid, as though she is happiest when she is drinking green tea.

However, beside her is a tall and quiet man, sipping at green tea as he meditates. His features are solemn and still, but she can tell that he is happy. She does not need open expression to understand him. She can sense the temporary peace he has found, and she dares not disturb it.

She has found that this green tea is different. The bland taste that she should hate allows her to focus upon him instead of upon enjoying a delicious beverage. The warmth it brings is not that of physical warmth, but that of spiritual warmth that brings her excitement and happiness. Her heart begins to beat quickly, skipping a beat when his finger twitches in a rare gesture. She knows that this action is nothing more than a bodily reaction, but it interests her all the same. It is him, after all. She stares at him for hours and never grows bored.

Some would call her actions stalking, but she refers to them as "putting her training into use and collecting data on a subject who just so happens to be Shinomori Aoshi." If she cannot put her training to every day use, she reasons, then what good does it do her?

She never asks him that question though. He will merely answer that her training has strengthened her body and mind. She prefers her explanation to his.

Today he is sitting as stoically as he ever does. The slight tension in his brow, however, reveals the distress interweaving and joining itself with his inner-peace in a tight knot. (He would be so proud if her observational skills extended past watching him.)

When she leans over sneakily (or as sneakily as she can; it is awfully difficult to surprise him), he does not flinch or shy away. Rather, he remains seated in perfect posture, his eyes closed in concentration. He is completely aware of what is to come, but refuses to acknowledge it and continues on in his meditative state. She takes this opening gratefully and pretends she does not understand his distinct body language (it is how he expresses himself, as he is a man of few words). He hopes that she will for once take heed of his actions and leave her idea in thought.

He knows, however, that his hopes will not be realized. He knows her too well to actually believe that she'll take his body language seriously. She is impulsive and allows her emotions to control her actions. Oddly, though, he feels no malice towards her eccentricity. He has come to appreciate who she is, idiosyncrasies and all.

He can feel the heat of her body as she edges her petite form towards his. It is not an uncomfortable warmth. He can feel the knot in the muscles of his shoulders loosening and he can feel his entire body beginning to relax. He feels her taking her tiny hands embracing his larger ones. They are delicate, but calloused from her use of kunai and a bit swollen from the punches she throws the moment she gets angry.

When she does not release his hands from hers but continues to crawl closer to him, he ponders in the back of his mind what exactly she is doing, and this pondering develops into understanding as he realizes she is on her knees facing him. His eyes remain closed as he prays that she will release his hands and distance herself from him in response to his coldness. She does not need to tarnish her innocence with the blood that covers his hands.

His body tenses as he feels her hands on his face, her fingers tracing the outline of his cheekbones. He continues to attempt to ignore her, but this only fuels her curiosity as her fingers curiously explore his lips. He relaxes slightly when her hands move to his shoulders and she moves to return to an upright position, relieved that her foolish thoughts have vanished.

His relief is misguided. Small fingers are replaced by soft, warm lips. He can feel her practically squirming with excitement at this new sensation, and had his training not been so complete, perhaps he too would be showing signs of the pleasure flooding his senses.

She places her hands against his firm, muscled chest, her lips brushing against his one last time, lingering for a moment to savor the warmth encompassing her entire being.

And just as suddenly as she crawled into his lap, she pulls herself away from him and plops herself into a meditative position.

The taste of his lips is fresh on her own, and she licks her lips slowly, treasuring the remnants of their kiss.

She tastes green tea.

At once, the previously bland liquid becomes far more flavorful than even the most delicious mochi.

"Aoshi-sama?" she calls his name in her usual, affectionate tone.

"Ah?" he replies in his usual, emotionless tone, though his feelings are quite the opposite.

She is silent for a moment as she contemplates how to phrase her observations.

He rises in a smooth motion. Passing Misao slowly, her innocent, smiling face paints itself into his mind's eye. A slight smile of his own tugs at his lips as his hand rubs her hair in an affectionate pat.

He doesn't have to look at her to know that her mouth is gaping in surprise.

"You know, I think I really do like green tea!" she exclaims excitedly as a grin like that of a small child who thinks he holds the greatest secret in the world spreads across her features.


End file.
